


Lost

by Decisnotonchairs



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Everybody Lives, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, How Do I Tag, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, Idiots in Love, James is a softie, Love Confessions, M/M, Moron in love, Murder Husbands, Sad Sebastian Moran, Sebastian is too, Sebastian needs a hug, Sleepy Cuddles, Surprise Kissing, Why Did I Write This?, bisexual Sebastian Moran
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-07 05:45:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18614341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decisnotonchairs/pseuds/Decisnotonchairs
Summary: After James Moriarty's death, his sniper has no idea what to do. The realization of how much Sebastian needed James is like a ton of bricks, and said ton of bricks won't leave the ex-Colonel's haunted mind.(AU where James lived the waterfall thing...)





	1. Chapter 1

Sebastian stared at his soaking wet clothes with a blurry gaze. His fingers were pruny from keeping them in the water for so long, searching for a hand, a shirt, something to grab onto...someone to save.  
His heart stopped when he realized that he'd never get to find James' body. He'd never get to give his boss a proper goodbye. And that hurt more than it should've.

It felt like a bullet rippled through his heart, and he actually had to check and make sure there WAS no bullet in his heart. The ache grew unbearable to the tears in his eyes, causing them to drip into the cursed waters that took his boss away.  
He wiped away his tears and moved out of the waters, biting at his lip to choke back a loud and proper sob. 

No, he wouldn't cry properly. Not yet, not when Watson could find him. He kept his chin up as he made it back to the inn they were staying at, feeling his aching heart grow more pained at the sight of James' things scattered around the shared room.  
Sebastian sat on the bed that he claimed, dripping water onto the covers.

He buried his face in his hands and let the sobs ring out. Years of excitement and honest friendship were dead now. There would be no more business dinners, no more joking around the fire...just a lonely armchair in front of the fire. Just a silent home for a man who was more and more broken.

Sebastian eventually stopped crying, finally freeing himself of his soaked clothing. He changed into dry clothing and packed his things. Out of habit, he carried James' things with him. He returned to London, to their flat on Conduit Street.

He sighed when he stepped inside, exhausted from hours of sobbing. He dropped the bags off and collapsed in his bed. He could smell the colonge James sometimes wore next to him.  
He sadly smiled at the memory of his boss trying to comfort him from a nightmare. He wouldn't have that ever again.


	2. Chapter 2

Sebastian stirred awake at around noon. He groaned a little at the sun filtering in, wishing for a few more seconds of sleep before having to face the day. He sighed as he rolled onto his back, his eyes barely open. The ache in his heart was still there, and he didn't know what to do about it. His throat was sore from sobbing like the world was ending, and his eyes felt dry now.

He sat up, blankets still a tangled and warm mess around his body. He made no effort to get out of bed, instead staring down at the white bedsheets. How many times did he leap out of bed at just hearing "Basher"? Too many times, which were once times that were happy. Now they drowned in sadness.  
It took the man a few long minutes before climbing out of bed and looking around at his room, barely able to smile at the sight of it.

It felt like yesterday was him moving in with James, being showed his room with a gentle wave of a hand, the movement making a chained watch be noticeable.   
Sebastian shook his head to chase away the memories, walking out of his room and into the hall. He looked at James' open door and swore his heart shattered.

He was across the hall. He always was. Sebastian found that comforting to remember during the harder nights...knowing that if he screamed in his sleep, James would be there...  
But now he wasn't across the hall. Now he would never be across the hall, and his soft comforting touches wouldn't shake Sebastian out of the hellish dream he was in.

He continued walking until he reached the stairs, staring down them with a sigh. How many times did he almost fall down these stairs in the morning, before James was up, just to make them tea? Sebastian shakily smiled as he remembered the sleepy expression James would have, and how it would slowly turn more awake as he drank the warm beverage.

Memories hurt, but looking over the happy times were both healthy and easier for him. Remembering the cold, unforgiving waters wouldn't help him right now. Remembering James at his best moments were a small bit of happiness.

It wasn't until he was setting another teacup down that Sebastian realised he was still in his morning tea habit. He shook his head and stared at the second teacup. He brushed his fingers along the worn side with a sad chuckle.  
It was always that cup, never any other cup. There was no reason why James was given that cup but...that cup was his.

Sebastian almost dropped it when his eyes went damp and a shiver of aloneness went through him. He set the cup safely down and poured himself some tea, hoping it'd be soothing.


	3. Chapter 3

Sebastian stared at the now empty tea cup, listening to the fire roar like the storm in his heart. It felt odd not having anyone talking in the background, or being the person who IS talking.   
No one else was home, so he wouldn't look completely insane.

"Prof," he whispered softly. The nickname felt like warm honey in his mouth. All the memories that the word carried rushed forward. It felt nice to say the nickname again. It felt like James was in the room, sitting in his armchair. 

"I miss you," he added in a quieter tone, looking at the armchair. He imagined a flash of an apology on his professor's face. He wobbly smiled, shaking his head a bit. He opened his mouth to speak and failed. He gave up on trying to speak quickly and looked down, folding his hands in his lap. 

Crying felt like it wouldn't help, so he didn't. He closed his eyes. He focused on the fire and the memories that it brought. Conversations, laughter, James' smile...


End file.
